


Wash It Away

by rayoflight



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 21:37:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4408781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayoflight/pseuds/rayoflight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Midway between a drabble and a short one chapter fic, Ichabod must tend to a Witness related injury.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wash It Away

His arms laden, Ichabod kicked in the door and hurried into the bathroom. Though his hands shook mightily he was able to turn on the hot tap in the tub.  

Steam soon billowed up from the water.

He returned his attention to the small cool bundle of a woman he had carried in.

Her lips curled in pain.

“Abbie… Please.”

He managed to strip her clothing from her body and put her into the tub… He then got up and ran from the room, tore the kitchen apart looking for one key ingredient.  

He was just about to give up.  His eyes blurring over with fury at himself, and terror that Abbie would be lost...when he spotted it.

_Salt._

* * *

He re entered the bathroom, his long stride bringing him to the tub within three steps.

And there she lay, her complexion waxy, her brow furrowed in pain, tears slipping from her closed eyes.

She could not speak, could not even reach out to him for comfort.  She was trapped within herself, bearing this terrible curse alone.

He quickly opened the spout and dumped the contents into the tub, and her eyes flew open.

She seized for the briefest moment before relaxing.  Her head lolled against the back-rim of the huge claw footed tub and she swallowed once before lifting those round scotch-colored eyes to regard him.

Even as a pained tear rolled down her cheek, she smiled at him, reassured him, because she knew that he would be shattered to see her in this state.

 _Four times,_ now.

Almost gone.  Leaving him without her.

Unacceptable.

He knelt down beside her head and lifted his hand as close to her face as he dared. He stopped short of touching her.

“Can you speak?”

“Yes...I feel weak.”

“Are experiencing any pain?”

“Yes, dull throb all-over.”  

She swallowed again, grimacing…

“-Everywhere. What happened?”

“You almost died, _again_ , because I failed you-”

He looked down and wrung his hands to still their trembling.

“Mmm-No. Tell me what happened.”

She forced herself to enunciate despite the pain, even moving her tongue hurt mightily.

“It cursed you.  It cursed _you_ after you knocked me out of the way.  Fortunately, you have salt in the house.”

He sounded angry.   _Of course he is_ , she thought.   _Damn him. This is our work!_

She moved her eyes - _oh god! even they hurt!_ \- and glanced down at her submerged form.

She could not see her body. Whatever concoction the thing threw on her reacted with the salt to turn the water deep purple, but she could feel no wet material soaked to her skin.

“Apologies,  I had no thought of your modesty when you were… in imminent danger.  I swear to you, that I did not look.”

She chuckled and Ichabod simultaneously marveled and shushed.

“I’m not modest Ichabod.  Private, perhaps. But not modest. It’s fine, you with those eyebrows and cow eyelashes have seen many a naked woman before, I’m sure.”

_You’re not just any woman. You are singular, gloriously enchanting, Miss Abigail Mills.  A diminutive Calypso, Persephone, Echo…_

He had been distracted of course, but his eidetic memory taunted him with details he was too distraught to note at the time, _\- the slight jiggle of her round bum as he drew her pants down.  The fall of her bosom, perfectly sized for his eager hands the slope of her smooth belly down to her-_

His fingers twitched on the rim of the tub with the urge to stroke her brow, to soothe her (and himself in so doing) somehow.  But he knew that for now, it was dangerous.

She would need to sook for a good hour before she was in the clear.  Touching her now would only pain her.

“You must _remain_ here until we are both certain that this curse has passed.  I shall procure more salt for you.”  

“-In the pantry. There should be another container with the provisions I got for you three years ago, to hide you from the Horseman.”

_Three years, yes it had been that long._

She moaned.

_“Abbie.”_

“-I’m fine.”

She grimaced.

“I _will_ be fine.”

 

* * *

 

Ichabod forced himself to leave the room, -to leave her side and felt bereft at just these scant few seconds of distance absent her voice, her face.  

Oh dear, _he_ was not fine either.

 


End file.
